


a curse (a blessing)

by ralf



Series: Close to Canon [34]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e17 Heavenly Fire, Feelings, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Immortality Angst, Magnus Bane-centric, mortality angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralf/pseuds/ralf
Summary: Magnus's eyes catch on something that can't be real. As if in trance he raises his hand and plucks the offending mistake from his head.It's a hair. A gray hair.[Set during 3x17.]





	a curse (a blessing)

Magnus examines himself in the mirror, lazy tumbler in hand. He looks good, outfit immaculate, eyeliner flawlessly applied. He can almost ignore that it had taken him a lot longer than _before_ to achieve this. If he squints and tilts his head just so he nearly feels like himself again.

 _Like his old self_ , Alec's words from this morning echo in his mind unhelpfully.

Shoving down the small voice that tells him he can't pretend forever and that those cracks in his composure will only widen and fracture until he's left with nothing but shards, he steps closer to the mirror to admire his handiwork.

It's perfect. Anyone who sees him wouldn't know about the aching absence of magic crawling under his skin. His facade is expertedly crafted, his clothes crisp, his makeup sharp, not a hair out of pla--

Magnus's eyes catch on something that can't be real. As if in trance he raises his hand and plucks the offending mistake from his head.

It's a hair. A gray hair.

Magnus stares at it, blinking, uncomprehending. It can't be. The thought is ridiculous. It can't be _his_.

The hair is long. He lost his magic not even two weeks ago, it can't--

His hair grows quickly. If it sprouted immediately after, it could be possible. Magnus contemplates the hair and swallows drily.

So this is it. The beginning of the end. Maybe he should revise his estimation of fifty years that he has left. Maybe it's less.

To think that barely a month ago he chose to dye gray highlights into his hair willingly. How ironic that he thought the color could suit him. As if the drabness of gray could ever mean anything but life slowly fading away.

He's been so naive, so stupid. Thinking he had all the time in the world, all of his life still ahead of him no matter how high the number of his age climbed.

 _Foolish_ , the hair between his fingers seems to mock. _Your days are numbered_.

Magnus lets it fall from his grip as if that would change anything, as if that would silence the clock ticking over his head. As if the hair slipping through his fingers could be anything but a horrible allegory of the life that's doing the same thing.

He almost wants to laugh. He lost count of the years that he cursed his immortality, feeling it like a dead weight pressing him down, damning him to lose and lose and lose, lovers and friends alike, taking pieces of his heart without ever returning them.

He's been misconstruing it. All immortality has ever done was granting him _more_. More opportunities, more experiences, more possibilities. More joy. More _time_.

And now it's gone.

He spent so much of his life hating his immortality that it never even occured to him he could miss it.

But, as it turns out, he does.


End file.
